


Jack (Kelly) and the Beanstalk

by namesfey



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, idk if there's romance yet i gotta figure that out lol, other newsies are in here too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namesfey/pseuds/namesfey
Summary: Jack Kelly always did as he was told. It wasn’t because he was forced to, but the consequences tended to be less severe when he did. He washed the dishes for his brother Charlie to dry. He swept the floor at night even though he had swept that morning. He mucked out the area where the family’s cow, Belle, resided. But when Jack’s mother told him to go into market one cold, rainy Tuesday, he nearly exploded.





	1. Kelly and the Cow

Jack Kelly always did as he was told. It wasn’t because he was forced to, but the consequences tended to be less severe when he did. He washed the dishes for his brother Charlie to dry. He swept the floor at night even though he had swept that morning. He mucked out the area where the family’s cow, Belle, resided. But when Jack’s mother told him to go into market one cold, rainy Tuesday, he nearly exploded.

Charlie Morris was more inclined to say than do. If he was annoyed, his brother would know via words rather than punches. If he was happy, his mother would know via laughter rather than hugs. And if he was infuriated, his family would know via shouts rather than broken dishes. But along with this lack of action, Charlie was observant. He knew that when Jack needed to vent he went to speak to Belle. He knew that sunlight hadn’t peeked through the clouds enough for their crops to grow. And he knew that when his mother sent them to bed without supper, it wasn’t always as a punishment - more often than not it was because they just didn’t have any food.

Medda Larkin did as best as she could. She was a single mother of two boys, each found in a basket on the side of a road. They were both a handful, but luckily she had two hands. The only problem with having your hands full is that there isn’t one free to do work. Yes, Medda did as best as she could, but sometimes the best is not enough.

The three of them (Medda, Jack, and Charlie) lived on a small farm outside of a small town, and when their crops did well and their cow gave milk they sold what they had to the market in town. But with the gloomy weather or late, none of their crops would produce. The family had sold what they could, but received little in return. It quickly became apparent that they needed to strike rich soon, or starve. When Medda brought this up to her sons, and proposed what they should do about it, she did so out of consideration, though she already had a decision made.

“I could paint people’s portraits,” offered Jack.

“With what paint?” asked Charlie. When Jack didn’t respond, Charlie said, “We could do some labor in town.”

“How are you gonna do that with one good leg?” asked Jack.

“It’s better than nothing!”

“It doesn’t matter, everyone’s got everyone else workin’ for them, they don’t _need_ our help.”

“Someone _always_ needs help.”

“Yeah, and if they do, they got no money to buy it!”

“Boys!” Medda interjected. “It doesn’t matter, I already made up my mind: we’re selling the cow.”

The room was quiet for all of a few seconds. Then chaos erupted.

“No, you can’t, Ma,” said Jack, “it’s not fair!”

“Jack’ll go crazy!” added Charlie.

Medda tried to explain further, but Jack wasn’t listening anymore. He stormed out of their little hut and straight into Belle’s pasture. Medda sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. “She’s the only thing that’s worth anything around here anymore, Charlie, and the only thing that I am sure will make us a profit. She’ll buy us some time until we find another way.”

“I know, Ma. But Jack loves that cow.”

“Sometimes I think he loves her more than he loves us,” Medda said with a small smile.

*****

Jack sat on a wooden stool, head leaning against Belle’s stomach, a hand running against her brown and white hide.

“Ma said sellin’ you’s our best option. I don’t know if I can live with that, girl.” Belle whipped her tail in response. “Sometimes I dream of runnin’ a farm just full of cows. A cow farmer. Jack Kelly the Cowboy, that’d be my name. I’d just take care of a bunch of Belles and bulls and baby Belles. Where everythin’ is green and bright and sunny, and the moon so big that at night some think _it’s_ the sun” Jack raised his head to look into Belle’s dark eye. “I’d take Charlie and Ma, too, if I could. But, if I’m bein’ completely honest, sometimes I wish I could just disappear from here and start over. Find work right away that’ll put a penny quick into my pocket. And once I get enough money, I’d send some home to Ma and Charlie, so they wouldn’t have to live like we are now ever again.”

“Jack?”

Jack stood, looking behind him. It was Charlie, standing at the gate of Belle’s pasture, uneasy.

“Charlie what are you doin’ out here? You’re gonna slip in the mud or catch a cold or somethin’.”

“I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

Jack scoffed. “Oh, yeah, peachy-keen, Char, I just learned that we have to sell one of my friends for money.”

“I know, Jack, but… she’s a cow.”

“Yeah, but she’s _family_.”

“I don’t know how to explain this to you without you gettin’ mad.”

“Then don’t!”

“Jack Kelly, you listen here!” Charlie shouted, which was enough to halt Jack right in his tracks. “I know you love Belle. I know that you talk to her for hours because she can’t respond or refute or whatever. But get your head out of the pasture and look around: we’re going to die on this stupid farm in the cold if we don’t have money to sustain ourselves. That's just the facts. If we don’t have money, we can’t buy food. If we don’t have food, we can’t eat. If we can’t eat, we die where we stand, and I am not going to sit around while you mope to a cow about how much your life is a mess when we can actually do something! You don’t get to choose who you are or where you live or what comes to you, okay? That’s just life. But sometimes you gotta take what life throws your way in hopes that it gets better. Sometimes you have to live through the rain and the clouds and the mud to get to your next hot meal. And sometimes the price is a cow.”

Charlie didn’t wait for Jack to answer; he turned and walked back into the house, only sparing Jack one last glance as he shut the door.

Jack sat down on the wooden stool and let the tears flow down his face, knowing what he had to do, but dreading it all the same.


	2. Eeny Beany

Jack Kelly dragged his beloved cow behind him, dragging his own feet upon the ground.

The market wasn’t as crowded as he’d ever seen it, but it wasn’t as empty as he’d seen it, either. It seemed that the only ones in stalls and tents were craftsmen - the overall lack of produce due to the gloomy weather. Jack felt a little better knowing his family wasn’t the only one suffering.

It was difficult trying to sell Belle. That being said, Jack wasn’t trying very hard to do so. He _should_ have been asking every person he passed if they would buy his cow, but he instead avoided all eye contact so no one would approach him. If he didn’t end up selling the cow, then his ma wouldn’t be mad if he returned home with the cow - right?

“Nah, she’d make me go back every day until Belle was sold,” Jack mumbled to himself.

“What was that, son?”

Jack looked up from his feet to see an older man in the middle of the lane ahead of him, a girl around Jack’s age (presumably the man’s daughter) peeking out from behind the man. They were both nicely dressed - the man in a fancy suit and the girl in a colorful dress, their outfits juxtaposing both Jack’s drab, simple attire and the overall atmosphere of the market.

“Um, I didn’t say anythin’, sir,” Jack said, trying to find a way to move around the two, what with Belle in tow. Jack took a few steps forward, but so did the man, blocking Jack from continuing on.

“That’s a fine cow you have there.”

“Yes, she is,” Jack replied bitterly.

“Is she for sale?”

The man’s daughter looked confusedly at her father, making it apparent to Jack that the man was in no dire need of a cow.

Jack hesitated. He wanted to say no - oh how he _wanted_ to say no, to keep on moving, to bring Belle home - but he thought about his farm. He thought about Charlie and Medda. And he thought about their future. He thought about more than just himself.

“Yes, sir, she’s for sale.”

“Brilliant. How much is she?”

“She’s…” Jack looked back at Belle. He had no idea what a reasonable price for her would be. To Jack, there wasn’t a price high enough. To the average person, however… Jack couldn’t say. “What… what do you have to offer?”

The man smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. It was a smile that Jack saw on the faces of boys that sprint through the market when it’s crowded, a smile that meant you were going to be tricked, but you couldn’t get out of it. Jack saw the girl’s eyes widen, first at her father, then at Jack. She shook her head - an action done so minimally that Jack wasn’t sure if she had done it at all.

“I’ll give you these,” the man said, holding out his hand. Jack leaned in to see what the man was holding.

In the man’s open palm lay five beans. Nothing special - just five plain beans.

“There’s no way in hell I’m givin’ you Belle in exchange for some old beans,” Jack said.

“Oh, but they’re not just ‘some old beans’,” the man replied, stepping closer to Jack. Jack noticed that the girl, now not in eyesight of her father, started shaking her head furiously, and Jack wondered why she wouldn’t just say something.

“These beans,” the man continued, “are _magic_ beans.”

Jack scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“‘Right’ is right, my boy.”

“What’s so magic about ‘em?”

“You’d have to find out yourself. It’s different for each person. I will tell you this - they give you what you want the most.”

“Sure, sure. What’d they do for _you_?”

“They led me to this moment.”

“What you mean is you haven’t used ‘em yet.”

“You said it, not me.”

“So you’re tellin’ me,” Jack said, still in disbelief, “is that if I plant these beans, they’ll - _magically_ \- give me whatever I need.”

“Yes.”

“What if I don’t even know what I want?”

“You don’t have to know - the beans will do that part.”

“You’re gonna give me psychic beans in exchange for a cow.”

“It does sound a little odd, I will say.”

“It’s been soundin’ that way since you first spoke, mister.”

The girl seemed to have enough. “Father,” she said, grabbing the man’s arm that held the beans, “we don’t need a cow.”

“Yes, Katherine, I am well aware,” said the man, “but this here boy is in need of these beans.”

“Why not just let him have the beans and leave the cow?” said Katherine.

“Yeah,” agreed Jack. “Why not just let him have the beans and leave the cow.”

“Because nothing is free,” said the man. “Everything has a price. And these beans are no exception. Sometimes the price is a cow.”

_You don’t get to choose who you are or where you live or what comes to you, okay? That’s just life. But sometimes you gotta take what life throws your way in hopes that it gets better. Sometimes you have to live through the rain and the clouds and the mud to get to your next hot meal. And sometimes the price is a cow._

“It’s a deal.”

“It is?” asked the man.

“It is?” asked Katherine.

“It is,” said Jack, handing Katherine the rope tied to Belle, though not without a fair share of reluctance. As he let go of the rope, Jack felt strange - like a weight was simultaneously lifted from and placed on his shoulders; like he could breathe again but he was sick to his stomach.

“And here are your beans,” the man said, dropping them into Jack’s cupped hands. “Be careful with them, son.”

“Okay, okay,” Jack said, pocketing them. “Have a nice day, or whatever.”

“And to you,” the man said, continuing on his respective way, Katherine and Belle in tow.

As Katherine passed by him, she whispered, “You absolute _fool_ ,” but Jack wasn’t quite sure what she meant.

Jack watched the pair and the cow walk off until he couldn’t see them anymore, and then started the trek home.

*****

“What do you _mean_ they’re magic beans?” Medda shouted. “Is this some kind of rude joke because I made you sell the cow?”

“That’s what the man said: they’d give me what I want most.”

“And what do you want most, Jack Kelly?”

“I… I don’t know yet.”

Medda threw her hands into the air, looking at the ceiling of their home as if it would give her some kind of answer. “You don’t know. Well, I for one know that I want stability, or at least some money that I received from selling a cow that would put me on the track of getting to that point. What do _you_ want, Charlie?”

The two turned to Charlie, who up until this point was being uncharacteristically quiet. Charlie looked between Jack’s pleading eyes and Medda’s enraged ones. He opened and closed his mouth, no sound coming out.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Medda continued, voice softening as her body seemed to deflate, the fire of frustration leaving her. “I don’t know what to do next. Belle was our last hope - and it’s not completely your fault,” she said, noticing Jack’s want to refute. “Some men screw over kids just for kicks, and it’s wrong, but it happens.”

“I’m sorry, Ma.”

“Just… just go to bed, both of you,” she responded, opening the door and throwing the beans outside. “And before you ask, the beans weren’t good enough for eating.”

*****

“I’m sorry, Char,” Jack whispered into the darkness of their room.

“It’s fine, Jack,” Charlie answered, mere inches away. The boys had been sharing a bed recently not only for warm during the cold nights, but also because Jack’s bed had been sold - back when they still had things to sell.

“No, it’s not, fine. It’s all my fault.”

“You’re right. Both that it’s not fine and that it’s your fault. But we can’t control what happens, sometimes. Sometimes you can’t do anythin’ but watch what happens and move on from there.”

The boys whispered to each other until drowsiness took over.

Outside of their home, five bean sprouts burst through the ground.


	3. Golden Days

“Jack?”

Jack Kelly opened his eyes. He was in his and Charlie’s shared bed, Charlie sitting in front of him though his eyes were far away.

“Wazzit, Char?” Jack mumbled, rising to a sitting position.

Charlie just pointed to something behind Jack. When Jack looked in that direction, his mind went blank, his heart raced, and he forgot how to breathe.

There was a giant, green stalk outside of the window.

Jack rubbed his eyes, convinced it was a hallucination caused by sleep. But the stalk was still there, giant, green leaves and all.

Jack rushed out the door.

*****

The stalk was huge. Jack peered into the sky, high head tipped back as far as it could go without causing him to fall over backward. He couldn’t see the top - the stalk stretched far above the clouds.

“Did those beans do this?” Charlie asked, bringing Jack back to the ground.

“Must be. Guess the man wasn’t lying ‘bout them being magic.”

“That’s for sure. What do you think’s up there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s got to be _somethin’_ up there, hasn’t there?”

“Why would you think that?”

“I’m just sayin’ that there’s got to be somethin’ up there that you want. That’s what the man told you, right?”

The boys stood in silence, looking up at the sky.

“I’m gonna climb it,” said Jack.

“What?” said Charlie. “No, you’re _not_.”

“But you just said -”

“I know what I said - but that doesn’t mean I want you to actually _go_. One wrong move and you’re a pile of bones on the ground.”

“Well this isn’t about what you want, is it, Charlie.”

“No, but -”

“Then I’m going.”

“Fine! But when Ma asks where you are - and don’t think she won’t - I won’t hesitate to tell her exactly where.”

But Jack had already begun his ascent. By the time Charlie stepped back into the house, laying defeated on their shared bed, Jack was a speck in the sky.

*****

_Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t look down._

Jack looked down.

He didn’t know how high he was, didn’t know how long he had been climbing.

Jack looked up.

There were only the beanstalk and clouds.

It was getting hard to breathe. It was getting colder every inch Jack rose. It was getting difficult to see through tears caused by the wind at this altitude.

Jack wanted to cry. He wanted to quit. But he kept climbing.

*****

At one point the clouds became solid. Jack didn’t know when, but it was far past the time when he dared to look down. The beanstalk still rose, but when Jack touched a cloud, it was as if it were the ground below.

Jack pushed on the cloud harder, but it didn’t disintegrate, didn’t disappear, didn’t liquefy or evaporate or do anything that a cloud should have done.

Jack inched up a bit and tried his foot at it. Same result.

He put his full weight on the foot. Same result.

_What the hell?_

Jack composed himself as best he could before closing his eyes and placing both feet on the cloud, letting go of the beanstalk.

_I’m going to die. I’m gonna die just like Char told me I would. I’m gonna fall right through this cloud and land in a pile at Ma’s feet. I’m gonna die._

But Jack didn’t fall. Jack didn’t die.

Jack stood on a cloud hundreds of feet above the earth.

He took a step forward. The cloud held. He took another step forward. The cloud still held. Or was it a different cloud? Where did one cloud end and another begin?

Step after step Jack walked on clouds - to where, he didn’t know. Even if he cold tear his eyes away from the floor of clouds, he couldn’t say. It was because of this, however, that Jack failed to see whatever his left foot knocked into, sending him flying.

Jack screamed, sure this time that the clouds would vanish and he would fall. But despite what his mind thought, Jack landed back-down on what felt like a set of stairs.

Jack opened his eyes, confused. All he saw was clouds above him and to his sides. He sat up, rubbing his head. There he sat on clouds with no discernible shape to them - but when Jack moved his hands around them, he felt the shape of an ascending staircase - or descending, however you wanted to view it.

“Why are there stairs in the middle of nowhere?” Jack whispered, facing the upwards end of the stairs.

As if in answer, a hundred-foot-high door appeared from the clouds yards ahead, bright light shining from the inside.

“Who goes there?” the booming voice of a middle aged male voice called from the interior.

“My name’s Jack Kelly,” Jack Kelly called.

“What are you doing here, Jack Kelly?”

“I’m… lookin’ for what I want?” he chided himself for phrasing the statement as a question.

“Come inside and see if it is here,” the voice responded, as if he had heard the response a thousand times before.

Jack began his second climb of the day.

*****

The voice from inside the door belonged to a giant who introduced himself as Snyder, who propped Jack on his giant table and offered him a piece of is giant bread that was probably a crumb, but was the size of Jack.

“Thanks, Mr. Snyder,” Jack said, only eating what he knew his stomach could handle, wishing he brought a satchel with him to take the rest of the bread home.

“It’s not a problem, Jack,” Snyder said, sitting in a chair. “Now, what was it you were looking for, again?”

“I don’t exactly know, sir. I was told the beans that made this beanstalk would give me what I want most.”

“Ah, so you must have had a run-in with Mr. Pulitzer.”

“I guess so; I didn’t catch his name at the time.”

“I see,” Snyder said, leaning back in his chair. A thump came from beyond the room. Snyder looked startled. “Excuse me for a moment, Jack.”

Jack tried giving Snyder the privacy that he should have, but even Snyder’s mumbling could easily be heard: “I told you all to shut your traps! Stay quiet and nothing will happen to you.”

As Snyder rounded the corner back into the… kitchen? dining room? (the room was too big for Jack to be sure) Jack stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth to avoid blurting out what he wanted to ask.

“I’m sorry about that,” Snyder said. “I have a cat, and it can be _very_ pesky.”

“‘M shr,” Jack said, his mouth full.

“Now where were we? Oh, yes - your meeting with Pulitzer.”

“I dunno what all there is to talk about,” Jack said, swallowing the bread. “I gave him my cow and he gave me these beans, tellin’ me that they’ll give me what I want most.”

“Well,” Snyder said, “Maybe I can help you, but you must complete something for me first. Are you up for the task?”

Jack felt uneasy - not just from the large consumption of bread. “What do I have to do?”

Snyder held out one of his giant hands. “Let me show you.”

*****

Jack sat on the palm of Snyder’s hand as Snyder walked to a room guarded by a massive wooden door. Snyder fished a ring with dozens of jingling keys, finding the one he needed and inserting it into the keyhole, unlocking the door. Jack had the feeling that this is where the disturbance came from earlier.

The door creaked open, as did Jack’s mouth.

Inside was stacks upon piles upon _hoards_ of gold coins. Snyder walked in and knelt down, letting Jack hop off his hand. Jack couldn’t stop staring.

“Now all you have to do is count the most coins in the time frame that I give you,” Snyder said. “Fair?”

“Uh, sure,” Jack said absentmindedly. His mind was still trying to take in the gold.

“Perfect,” Snyder said, his voice turning rather contemptuous.

Before Jack could question the turn of tone, Snyder yelled, “Racetrack! Get out here _now_!”

Suddenly Jack wanted to be anywhere but here. He should’ve listened to Charlie. He should’ve stayed home.

Something moved from behind a stack of coins, but Jack couldn’t quite make out what. It was almost like the gold _itself_ was moving. As the gold moved closer, Jack realized it wasn’t mobile coins at all - it was a golden boy.

The boy wasn’t golden in the human sense of the word. His hair wasn’t a soft yellow. His skin wasn’t a deep tan. The boy was quite completely comprised of gold - not that he was made of metal, but that his entire self seemed to be dipped in gold. The boy stopped near Jack, face full of pity.

“This is Racetrack,” Snyder said. “You will be competing against him.”

“Sir,” Racetrack started, “please don’t -”

“Silence, Higgins!” Snyder roared.

_Higgins… why does that name sound familiar?_

“Jack, you will start on the right. Racetrack, the left.” Snyder walked out the door, not before saying, “You start now.”

The door closed with an ominous _BOOM_.

“I’m sorry,” Racetrack said before sprinting to the left side of the room, Jack still standing there wondering how he ended up in this mess.

*****

_Three-thirty-seven, three-thirty-eight, three-thirty-nine…_

Jack didn’t know how long he had been counting for. Every once in a while he would steal a glance at the golden boy’s work, not understanding how the boy was miles ahead of him.

“So what’s all this for?” Jack called to Racetrack, hoping, if nothing else, he could understand one thing.

“Shut your trap and count,” the boy answered.

"I'm at three-forty. What about you?"

"I said shut _up_."

“And if I don’t?” Jack ventured.

That made the boy stop, his shoulders hunched over. “Then you’ll end up like me. Or any of us.”

Jack was bewildered. “There’s more of you?”

The boy faced Jack, looking as if he wanted to cry. “There’s a whole room of us.”

“Are you all…”

“Made of gold? No. That was just how I ended up.”

“What - what do you mean ‘ended up’?”

The boy rose and strode to Jack, giving up on his counting. He was probably far enough ahead of Jack that he could afford to do so. When Racetrack stopped he stood above Jack, like a golden angel delivering news from the devil.

“If you lose this race, Snyder changes you. Me? He changed me into gold. It’s different for everyone.”

“And… where’s everyone else?”

“In there,” Racetrack pointed to a door behind the piles of gold that Jack hadn’t seen when he first arrived.

“But you said you lost. Why are you still counting?”

“Because the kid before me died,” said Racetrack, “and I was the next best thing.”

Jack couldn’t manage to speak louder than a whisper. “How long have you been here?”

“Couldn’t say. We don’t age up here. The boy who died? Ran out the door when Snyder wasn’t looking and threw himself off the clouds. My own family could be old and gray and I wouldn’t be the wiser.”

That’s when it clicked into place. “You’re Anthony Higgins. You went missin’ years ago - before I was even born. The town was in a state of crisis lookin’ for you. You’re a story people say around campfires. I can’t believe you’ve been here this whole time.”

“Yeah, well,” Racetrack said, exasperated, a helpless laugh escaping him. “You found me.”

A beat.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“ _What_?” said Racetrack, almost at a shout. “No! We can’t do that!”

“Why not?” Jack said, standing now.

“Because - because - I don’t know, we just can’t.”

“That’s the stupidest reason I’ve ever heard, and I listen to myself talk every day.”

“But - we can’t - we can’t just leave everyone else.”

“We'll come back for them,” Jack said. “But for now we need to find a way out, make sure there _is_ a way out.”

“No. I’m not abandoning them.”

The sound of keys in a lock cut through the air.

“Yes,” Jack said, grabbing a hold of Racetrack’s wrist, “you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yall im back
> 
>  
> 
> also - high school? don't know her


	4. Lighten Up, No One Died

As soon as the giant door opened, Jack took off, Racetrack in tow. Getting through the door was the easy part. What was more difficult, however, was the area beyond the room.

“Where’s the front door?” Jack asked, hurriedly, still on the move from hallway to hallway as if he were to stumble upon the door by chance.

“I’m,” Racetrack huffed, “I’m not - tellin' - you.”

Jack stopped abruptly, frustrated with Racetrack already. “Look, I know that you want to go back and help everyone escape together, but we can’t do that right now. Not when Snyder’s about to find us and grind our bones to make his bread.”

“Then would you at least let go of my wrist?” said Racetrack. “I think you’re cuttin' off my circulation.”

“So you can run back and possibly get caught?” Jack retorted, somehow tightening his already-tight grip on Racetrack. “No way. I’ll let you go when we get to the ground.” Jack took off again. “Now tell me which way the exit is.”

“I - I don’t know where - it is,” Racetrack replied.

“What do you _mean_ you don’t know where it is? Haven’t you been here forever?”

“Yeah - and I’ve never - been beyond the room with gold in it since - I first got here - so you can't blame me if I've - forgotten -”

“Ugh, you’re so -”

“JACK KELLY,” a voice roared.

“Now would be a good time to leave,” Jack mumbled to himself. “Now would be a good time to leave, _now would be a good time to leave, now would be_ -”

“There it is!” Racetrack shouted, pointing in a direction behind Jack, and so he turned and followed, still dragging Racetrack.

“I thought you said you didn’t know where it was.”

“Yeah, but I know what an exit looks like,” Racetrack said.

And indeed, he was not wrong. Jack could just make out the clouds outside through the high windows, and he had to admit that the furniture looked plenty familiar. Jack stopped himself and Racetrack before the door.

“Alright, genius, how do we get out now?” Racetrack asked.

_Think think think think think._ Jack’s eyes scanned every inch of the hundred-foot door. And there, at the bottom, a Jack-and-Racetrack-sized hole appeared. Jack didn’t answer Racetrack’s question, only pulled him behind and into the clouds.

*****

Jack and Racetrack where about halfway down the cloud staircase when the hundred-foot door opened wide. “KELLY. HIGGINS. Get back here _now_!”

“Sorry, Mom,” Racetrack whispered. Jack would have laughed if he wasn’t one hundred percent focused on finding the beanstalk.

Well, ninety-nine percent. The remain one percent was dedicated to silently pleading: _Please go back inside. Please go away. Please don’t find us. Please close the door_.

And there, a little ways ahead, Jack spotted green shooting out from amongst the clouds. It wasn’t until the two actually reached the beanstalk itself that Jack heard a loud _BOOM_ that echoed through the silent air.

“He went back inside,” Racetrack said, catching his breath. “He’s gone, Jack.”

“Great,” replied Jack, finally releasing Racetrack from his grasp. “Now start climbin' down.”

Racetrack barely got a “What?” out before Jack pushed him, sending him toppling onto the beanstalk.

“What was that for?” Racetrack called from a leaf ten feet below Jack, frantically standing and wrapping his arms around the main stalk.

“To make sure you won’t go runnin' back.”

*****

The boys didn’t say much as they descended, but Racetrack spent most of it angling himself so the reflection of the little sunlight that shone through the clouds would reflect off of his golden skin and right into Jack’s eye.

“Real mature, Racetrack.”

“I like to think so.”

*****

“Whose house is that?” Racetrack said.

Jack looked down, which in retrospect wasn’t the smartest thing to do given their current altitude. “Um, that’s... that’s my house.”

“Oh, cool.”

*****

“Jack!” yelled a voice that didn’t belong to Racetrack. Jack clung to the stalk, terrified that it might be Snyder following them after all. But, no, the voice wasn’t loud enough to be the roaring one of Snyder. Or deep enough. Once again, Jack looked down.

Not one hundred feet below stood a sandy-haired boy with a crutch under his arm. “Charlie?” Jack whispered. He dared to take one hand off the beanstalk and give Charlie a little wave. The boy waved in response. Jack rotated to the side of the stalk opposite Racetrack and began descending faster.

“Who is that?” Racetrack asked, giving up on shining light in Jack’s eye.

“That’s my brother,” Jack said, passing Racetrack.

“He doesn’t look like you.”

“And you’re made of gold.”

“So?”

“So?”

“Whatever.”

As soon as Jack’s feet hit the dirt he was running, running, _running_ to Charlie, ultimately colliding with him in a massive embrace.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” Jack repeated again and again.

“It’s okay, Jack,” Charlie said into Jack’s shoulder. “But I can’t breathe.”

“Oh, sorry,” Jack said, letting go. “I should’ve listened to you, Charlie. I should’ve stayed home, I should never have left.”

“I think there’s someone you’re forgetting to apologize to,” said someone from the doorway of the house. There stood Medda, irritated to say the least.

“Oh, Ma, I -”

“Save, it, kid. But next time you decide to go climbing an enormous beanstalk, I want to be told from you, not Charlie. Then we discuss what to do. No do-first-think-second in this household, you hear?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“Jack,” said Charlie, “who’s that?”

Jack turned around to find Racetrack walking to the group.

“This is, um -”

“Anthony Higgins,” Racetrack provided, joining their circle. “Also called Racetrack, or Race. It’s nice to meet you all.”

“Anthony Higgins?” Charlie asked. “Like, the boy that went missing?”

Race waved his hands, sarcastically singing, “Ta da.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you dear,” Medda said, trying to keep the worry and confusion out of her voice, holding out a hand for Race to shake, which Race did.

“Why are you all…” Charlie began, pointing up and down Race’s body.

“All gold? Well, I -”

“I think the more important question is,” Medda interjected, “why is the gold now on my hand?”

“What?” Jack and Race said at the same time.

Medda raised her hand, and indeed drips of gold dotted her hand. Jack swept a hand across Race’s arm. Liquid gold now coated Jack’s hand.

“What’s - what’s going on?” Race shouted. Gold started sliding down his face like sweat, off his curls like water.

“Hey, Race, calm down,” Charlie said.

“How am I supposed to calm down when I’m _melting_ like a - a candle or a piece of ice?”

“Just take deep breaths,” Charlie continued.

“Hey, shut up, Crutchie, you’re not helping!”

Charlie scoffed. “ _I_ -”

“ _You_ shut up, Racetrack!” Jack yelled. “His name’s Charlie, and he’s right - you need to calm down.”

“If you didn’t drag me out of that house I wouldn’t be melting, would I?” Race said, on the verge of hysterics. “I’m gonna die and it’s your fault, Jack!”

“Anthony, you’re not dying,” Medda cut in. “Look where Jack touched your arm.”

All three boys looked. Instead of a missing body part, human skin appeared. Race ran a hand through his hair. When he took his hand out, human fingers emerged, as well as golden curls (in the usual sense of the word).

“I… I’m turnin' back to normal!” Race exclaimed. He began to laugh, watery tears of joy creating streaks down his face that cut through the remains of his golden face, his eyes showing white and blue and black.

“I guess when you touch the ground you transform back,” Jack said, though he was so awestruck he was surprised he could speak at all.

“I guess so,” Race said, beaming. “Uh, I’m sorry for yellin' at you, Charlie - and for gettin' worked up at all, ma’am.”

“Call me Medda, dear. And you had every right to be concerned - just keep it in check from now on, deal?”

“Yes ma’am, Miss Medda.”

“Why don’t we all go inside and you and Jack can tell us everything?”

“Lead the way, Ma,” Jack said.

“And make sure not to leave anything out,” Charlie added.

The group was too invested in storytelling that they didn’t care to look down in the grass - where the gold once pooled at Race’s feet, stacks of coins now laid.


	5. Duck, Duck, Goose!

The night was quiet, but Jack couldn’t sleep a wink. His mind was awake, too aware of Charlie next to him on their bed and Race asleep on the floor, too aware of what is waiting above in the clouds, too aware of what he had promised to do.

Softly as he could, Jack slipped out from under the thin sheet covering him and Charlie, tiptoed his way around Race, and squeezed through the door to their bedroom. The living room/kitchen/Medda’s room was just as quiet, the last of the embers in the fireplace emitting a muted glow, just bright enough for Jack to get his bearings.

_There’s the kitchen table. There’s Ma’s rocker. There’s the door! Just don’t make any noise and Ma won’t wake up._

“Jack Kelly, just what do you think you are doing?”

Jack froze, one hand on the door handle. “Nothing…”

“You better hope you’re doing nothing, young man. Come over here this instant.”

Jack let his hand slide off the handle and walked, head lowered, to where Medda was standing by her bed, a candle in her hand.

“Were you about to go up that beanstalk?”

“Yes,” Jack said, dejected.

“And why would you do that?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Did we not have a conversation yesterday about informing me before going up any more beanstalks?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well, you informed me, so you can go.”

“What?” Jack said, lifting his head.

“If Anthony is truly who he says he is, and if what he said about the rest of the boys up there is true, then I believe it’s in all of our best interests that those boys escape. Don’t you think so?”

“Yes!” Jack exclaimed before quieting, realizing it was still the middle of the night and two boys were slumbering a thin wall away. “Yes, I think so, too.”

“And while I don’t think it was the best option to choose to sneak out and perform your little escapade in the dead of night, you might as well do so if you can’t sleep.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Jack said, hugging Medda tightly. “I’ll be back lickity-split.”

“Just come back, is all I’m asking. In one piece, too.”

Jack nodded and headed out the door, not before grabbing his satchel from here it hung on Medda’s rocker.

Outside it was pitch black, the only light now coming from inside the house. Only the occasional cricket could be heard.

After securing the satchel to his body, Jack began his climb.

*****

It was nighttime in the clouds as well. Though this time the night was illuminated with thousands of stars. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he saw the twinkling lights in the sky. He stood at the foot of the door of Snyder’s home for probably longer than he should, just taking in the sight above him. He took one last deep breath before heading inside through the hole he had escaped from.

*****

It took Jack longer than he would have liked to find the room filled with gold, and even longer to reach the door hidden behind the coins. Not only that, but every step he took caused more noise than he would have liked - or expected - leaving him on edge, worried that Snyder would wake up and find him.

Jack knocked on the wooden door as softly as he could. “Hello?”

No answer.

As he did with the door guarding the gold room, Jack crawled through the space between the floor and the bottom of the door - though there was barely enough room to do so.

On the other side of the door there was darkness.

“Hello?” Jack whispered. He walked blindly, arms out in front of him.

_Clang._

“Ow!” Jack cried, clutching his foot. “What the hell did I -”

“HONK.”

“Agh!”

“Honk honk honk _honk_ honk HONK!”

“Shut up!” Jack called. He kicked whatever it was he had kicked before.

_Clang._

“Honk!”

“Okay,” Jack replied. “I can’t understand you because you’re, you know, a goose, I think. But no need for the attitude, got it?”

He had no idea what was going on.

“So let’s just...um…one honk for yes, two honks for no. Are you in a cage?”

“Honk!”

“Did I kick your cage?”

“ _Honk_.”

“Are you a goose?”

“...Honk? Honk honk - honk. Honk. Honk honk.”

“I don’t… are you a kid trapped in a goose’s body?”

“Honk!”

“Do you know Racetrack?”

“Honk! Honk honk honk _honk_ honk honk?”

“I already told you I -”

“What’s going on?” a voice called out in the darkness. “Who’s there?”

“My name’s Jack,” Jack answered, because it was. “I’m here to rescue you guys. I was here yesterday and -”

“Did you hear that, guys?” the voice said. “He said he’s going to rescue us!”

A clamor came in response - an amalgamation of animalistic and metallic and other noises that Jack couldn’t even begin to describe.

_Too loud, too loud, that’s too loud!_

“What’s all the ruckus?” a booming voice called as the hidden door opened, right on cue. Jack, being as smart as he was, panicked, picking up the first thing he saw and ran - that being the cage with a goose inside it.

“I’m coming back, I swear!” Jacked yelled to those he left behind.

“KELLY,” Snyder’s voice said - but Jack didn’t dare waste his time looking at the giant - he was on his way to the exit.

*****

“Honk honk honk!”

“Shut up or I’m leaving you behind!” Jack yelled at the goose - which, now that he could see, was a white goose, save for a circle of brown around its eye, encased in a golden cage.

“ _Hhhhhhsssssss_.”

“Did you just hiss at me?”

“Honk.”

Jack stopped at the person-shaped hole in the doorway. It was too small to fit the cage through - but not the goose itself.

_Whatdoidowhatdoidowhatdoido?_

“Duh, my satchel!”

“Honk?”

“Shut up. Okay,” Jack said, rotating the cage to look for the door. “Now to get you out….” But no matter how much Jack turned the cage, there was no door - no key hole, no hinges. Nothing.

“How am I supposed to….”

“Honk _honk_ honk honk.”

“Would you quit that?” Jack snapped. “I could leave you here to fend for yourself, you know. Or throw you off - wait!”

Jack moved over to the giant giant-sized table, situating himself a few feet away from one of the table legs. He looked at the goose, regretful. “Sorry… and hold on.”

The goose barely got a “Honk?” out before Jack chucked the cage toward the table leg.

_Crash!_

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Jack called, rushing over to the cage.

“ _Hhhhhhsssssss_!”

“Yeah, I get it,” Jack replied. “But, look!”

Where the cage had collided with the table leg there was a dent in the bars. Jack tugged at them with all his might and they moved - slowly but surely. He continued doing so until he was positive he could do so no longer.

“Please let that be big enough.”

Jack watched as the goose maneuvered its body this way and that, trying to get out of its confinement. When the goose finally managed to squeeze its way out, Jack nearly collapsed of relief.

“Thank God.”

“JACK KELLY.”

“Quiet!” Jack whisper-shouted, grabbing both the goose and the cage with him under the table.

Footsteps boomed into the entry room. The paused. Then took more steps. Then paused again.

“When I find you, you’ll have wished you never had left!” Snyder roared.

“Fat chance,” Jack whispered, mostly to himself. More surprisingly to Jack, the goose had nothing to comment. One look into the goose’s eyes and Jack understood - it was just as frightened - if not more - than Jack was.

The pair of feet exited the room.

Jack put the goose in his satchel and ran for the door.

*****

“Can’t you fly down to the ground, or something?”

Jack and the goose were halfway down the stalk at this point.

“‘Honk honk honk?’ Honk honk _honk_ honk honk honk _honk_ honk -”

“You know what? Forget I asked.”

*****

“Race? Wake up!”

Charlie poked Race’s shoulder until the boy rolled over, grumbling “Five more minutes.”

“But I can see Jack climbing down.”

“ _What_?” Race said, out the door before Charlie could take another breath.

“Wait for me!”

*****

Jack landed firmly on the ground, swiftly embraced by Charlie and exchanging a smile with Race.

“Who’d you bring back?” the latter boy asked.

“Honk!” Jack’s satchel said.

“Spot?” responded, rushing to Jack’s satchel and pulling out the goose.

“If the goose’s name is Spot, then yes.”

“Oh it is,” Race responded as he set the goose on the ground. “Trust me.”

“Honk honk.”

“Did he lay any eggs?” Race asked, still looking at Spot The Goose.

“Um…” Jack said, fishing around in the depths of his satchel. “Yeah, one. Is this gold - SHIT.”

Where the goose was before stood a boy about Jack’s age, short in stature but strong in build.

“What, you never seen a goose turn into a human before?” asked Spot The Boy.

“Can’t - can't say I have.”

“So did that egg really come out of you?” Charlie asked, grabbing the golden egg.

“Ew, Charlie, that’s _disgusting_ ,” Jack said, but willingly handed the egg over.

“Shut up, Jack.”

“Uh, it did, actually, to answer your question,” Spot said, his face a deep shade of red. “And it _is_ gold, to answer _your_ question, Jacky-boy.”

Jack looked at Spot square in the eye. “Don’t call me that.”

“We gotta show this to Ma!” Charlie declared. “Oh, and we could add it to our pile!”

“What pile?” the other three boys asked.

“Me and Ma found a pile of gold in the grass this morning. We think it came from the gold that dripped off of Racetrack yesterday.”

“What can I say?” Race said as they all headed inside. “I’m a man of many gifts.”

"So how many eggs have you layed?"

"Not now, Charlie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love imagining jack just YEETing the cage halfway across the room
> 
> Spot The Goose? gotta love him


	6. Meanwhile

It had been five days since Jack brought Spot back down to the ground. Each day a boy was rescued, and each day Medda Larkin’s home became a little more full.

Now, not including Charlie and Jack, Medda housed Finch (who had been a small bird), Buttons (who had been a mason jar full of buttons), Elmer (who had been a bowl of paste), twins named Mike and Ike (who had been dolls - one piggybacking the other), and Henry (who had been himself - Snyder wasn’t always so creative, it seemed). 

The sixth day Jack Kelly climbed into the sky, Race was at his breaking point.

“Why can we never leave this house?” Race groaned from the floor of the boys’ bedroom, splayed out like a star, his arms flopping up and down.

“Where would you go?” Charlie responded from his bed, nose in a tattered book. “And what if someone recognized you?”

“You already said I’d been missin’ forever, so who’d recognize me?”

“Why can’t you ever just do what you’re told, Racer?” Spot asked, who was sitting next to Charlie, watching Race's spectacle.

“Honk you, Spot.”

“What’s there to do around here, anyway?” asked Elmer, sitting on the floor against the bed, also watching Race. “There’s, like, nothing fun to do here - no offence, Charlie.”

“Yeah, all you have are two or three books,” Buttons said from the main room.

“ _Please_ can we go to the marketplace, Charlie?” Race said, now in a kneeling position. “I’m _begging_ you. I can’t stand being contained in here any longer.”

“You can always go to the cow pasture,” Charlie responded, unbothered.

“You don’t even have any cows!”

“Yeah, ‘cause Jack sold her for the beans that allowed us to rescue you, Race,” Charlie said, exasperated, finally putting his book down. “I know being cooped up here isn’t ideal but it’s for your safety. Even if I was willing to let you guys out, I wouldn’t, because my ma wouldn’t let you guys out of her sight. If you guys left, she'd be on _my_ hide.”

“She let _Jack_ out of her sight,” Elmer said.

“Yes, and every day she’s worried sick, but she knows he’s doing the right thing.”

“She’s not even here, though,” Race said.

“Because she’s at the market, dumbass,” Spot said, “where she’ll definitely see us if we go.”

“What if only a few of us went?” Finch said, poking his head through the door. “That way we’d be harder to spot.”

“Okay,” Charlie said, “but Race can’t go.”

“WHAT?” Race shouted

“You attract too much attention.”

“I do _not_.”

“Says the boy who was literally made out of gold.”

“But I’ve been stuck here the longest, and I’m the one who wants to get some fresh air the most.”

“He has a point, Charlie,” called Buttons, still in the main room.

“How is he hearing all of this?” Elmer muttered to himself.

“Guys, it’s not even that bad being in here,” Henry said, standing by the window.

“You just got here, kid,” Race said. “Give it two days, then you’ll understand.”

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” Charlie said. “If it means you'll stop complaining, I'll give up. Race, you can come. Spot, you too.”

“Seriously, Charlie?” Spot said, clearly offended.

“I need an extra eye on Race.”

“Hey!”

Charlie rose from the bed and grabbed his crutch. “Finch, you hold down the fort until we come back.”

“And what if Miss Medda comes back before you?” Finch said.

“Just make up something. Make it believable. But hopefully we’ll be back before her.”

The boys said their goodbyes to each other, then walked out the doors.

“Wait,” said Charlie, not three steps out of the house. “Where’d the twins go?”

“They’re making mud castles in the yard,” Race said, pointing a ways away. Sure enough, Mike and Ike sat on the ground, quietly making a mess in the mud. “Honestly, Charlie, calm down.”

*****

“When did it get so gloomy?” Spot asked as they walked the path to the market. “It’s not even winter. Where’d all the sun go?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie said. “It’s been like this for a while now. That’s why our crops stopped growing. No sunlight means no growth.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Spot.”

“I can see people up ahead!” Race shouted, turning around. A huge smile was plastered onto his face, his eyes bright. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Race sprinted down the path, leaving Spot and Charlie in his dust.

*****

The two boys finally caught up with Race at a tent full of miscellaneous objects.

“You know one of us can’t run that well, right?” Spot said.

“Oh,” Race said, frowning. “Sorry, I was just - I didn’t mean to, Charlie.”

“It’s fine, Racetrack, really,” Charlie replied. At Spot’s skeptical face: “ _Really_.”

“So what were you lookin’ at?” Spot asked.

“Um… I was just lookin’ at this chair,” Race said. “Kinda looks familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Catch yer fancy?” asked the man in the tent.

“No, Mr. Wiesel, we’re fine,” Charlie said hurriedly, suddenly realizing whose tent they were at and walking away as casually-fast as he could.

“Now, now, boy,” Wiesel said, “why are you in such a rush? Are these your friends? I’ve never seen them before.”

“Relatives. From out of town.” Charlie tugged on Spot’s sleeve. “Time to go.”

This time Spot and Race complied.

“I knew this was a bad idea. I knew this was a bad idea. I knew this -”

“Medda alert!” Race yelled. The boys rushed into the nearest hiding place - a nook between two quaint little buildings.

“Could you have shouted that a bit louder? I didn’t hear it,” Spot said.

“Shut the honk up.”

“Would you stop that?”

“Stop what?”

“Saying ‘honk’ instead of -”

“Excuse me?”

The three of them turned toward the very-female voice in the nook with them. It was a girl, brown-haired and brown-eyed, holding several sheets of paper.

“Excuse me?” she said again, this time stepping towards them. “I… I’m looking for my brother? He’s been missing for a few weeks.” She gave them one of the papers, Race taking it without even looking at its contents. She continued, “If, um, if you find him, please tell him we’re sorry and we’re not mad. That we love him and we’re waiting for him at home.”

“Sure thing, Miss,” Race said. The girl walked away.

“I think it’s time to go home now,” Spot said.

*****

Buttons was waiting for them at the gate to the farm.

“I’m surprised you didn’t run away,” Race said.

“Some of us here are responsible, Racer.”

“Is Ma back yet?” Charlie asked.

“No, but I think Jack’s about to be.”

*****

The all the boys stood at the foot of the stalk as they watched Jack Kelly make his descent. At first it only looked as though he had taken one boy back with him, but as Jack made it to the ground, they knew otherwise.

“Hey, fellas, what’s new?”

“Who’d ya bring back?” one of the twins asked.

“I got this guy,” Jack said, grabbing a pair of glasses off his head and placing it on the ground.

“Specs!”

Jack fished in his satchel, pulling out a book. “And this guy.”

“Romeo!”

“Hey what about me?” called a red-headed boy still hanging onto the beanstalk.

“Albert!” Race called.

“Heya, Racer! You miss me?”

“Are you sure you want to come down?”

“Why would I - oh, shoot. We transform back when we hit the ground, don’t we?”

“Why don’t you ask Specs and Ro?”

“Yeah, we’re standing right here.”

And they were. One was the boy who talked, who was tall and wore the same pair of glasses that Jack brought down - Specs. The other was a shorter boy who seemed very chipper - Romeo.

“Hold on, hold on,” Jack said. “I thought he was normal, like Henry.”

“He was,” said Spot, “but Snyder made him wicked smart. Say, Albert, how many leaves would you say was on the stalk?”

“Um, ‘bout nine-hundred-thirty-six, give or take a few.”

“And how many books are on the shelves inside?” Race prodded.

“Well, I don’t know,” said Albert, making his way down the stalk, “I’d have to look - aw, dammit.”

“Hey, Albert, how tall is the beanstalk?”

“Hell if I know, Racer, thanks for nothing,” answered Albert, both feet firmly on the ground, a frown firmly on his face.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Race said, patting Albert’s shoulder.

“Honk off.”

“See, Spot? It’s catching on!”

*****

“Hey, guys?” Race asked.

It was nighttime, the boys making their makeshift pallets on the floor, Jack already deep asleep on his and Charlie’s bed.

“What’s up, Race?” Finch asked.

“Me and Spot and Charlie got approached by this girl in the market looking for her brother, and she handed us this paper, but none of us looked at it until I did just now and, well…” he held it up for everyone to see. In the middle of the paper was a drawing of a boy’s face, a huge “MISSING” written above it. “Doesn’t this look like David?”


	7. The Last of Us

“So who’s this kid again?”

The boys gathered around the table the next morning, telling Jack about their revelation as he ate porridge. The poster with David’s face lay in the middle of the table.

“He’s Snyder’s most recent prisoner,” said Spot. “Until you came, that is.”

“Alright, I’ll make sure to get him this time,” said Jack.

“That’s the problem,” said Race. “You’ll want to free everyone else, _then_ get David.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause Snyder keeps him under strict surveillance. Changed him into a harp that plays whenever Snyder says to. He’ll know if you take David within seconds of you doing so.”

“And even if you get away with David,” said Finch, “Snyder’ll be ruthless on guarding his home so you’ll never be able to sneak back in.”

Jack rubbed his face. “Okay, I’ll get some other people today.”

“You should get David as soon as possible,” said Spot. “While his family’s still lookin’ for him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Charlie.

“I’m just sayin’ that some of us don’t have families to go back to.”

“Just so I’m hearin’ you right,” said Jack, “you want me to rescue everyone else _and_ this ‘David’ _today_? As in...today?” Jack glanced at every rescued boy, who nodded their heads in confirmation. “Great,” he said, picking up his empty bowl and walking to the sink. “Easy-peasy.”

*****

“Why don’t some of us go up there with you?” asked Buttons. Everyone stood at the base of the beanstalk (except for Medda, who was still sleeping peacefully inside), ready to watch as Jack made his (hopefully) last ascent.

“I can’t risk Snyder trapping any of you again,” said Jack, securing his satchel along with the one he was borrowing from Charlie. He looked around at their apprehensive expressions. “Cheer up, fellas. I’ll be back before you know it.” He gave one last hug to Charlie, then began to climb.

*****

Sneaking into Snyder’s place and finding the hidden room was like second nature to Jack at this point. His biggest problem would be fitting everyone else in his bags, finding David The Harp, and escaping with everyone in tact and alive - including himself.

Surprisingly, there weren’t as many people-things left - only six or so: a yo-yo, a statue of a boy standing on one foot with his other foot in the air and one hand stretched to his front and one hand behind him (he would later be told the position is called an arabesque), a statue of a pixie (even smaller than the statue of the boy), a wooden pop gun, an eyepatch, and a bowl of porridge like the one he ate that morning. All of the people-objects fit into one satchel, so he hoped an entire second satchel would be enough to stuff a harp into.

Now for the hard part.

“If I were a giant manic giant,” Jack muttered to himself, “where would I keep my boy-harp?” He heard a clacking sound from his satchel. Looking inside, he saw the boy statue shaking around. He pulled it out, holding the base of the statue in his hand.

At first, nothing happened. Then, as if pulled by an invisible force, the statue shot forward, Jack still holding on. It seemed to be pulling Jack in a certain direction, down this hallway and that hallway, until he stood in front of a nondescript door.

Jack looked at the statue. “And how am I supposed to get in?” The statue tugged him toward a Jack-sized door. “Of course,” Jack mumbled. “Thanks...whoever you are.” He put the statue back in his satchel and squeezed through.

Inside was dimly lit, but Jack could tell it was a bedroom. There was a huge mattress and bed frame, with an enormous dresser and side table. Music could be heard stemming from the side table - an almost plucking sound, like a -

Jack stomach dropped. It was a harp.

This was Snyder’s bedroom.

Jack steadied his breathing. Freaking out in this room would be - let’s just say, less than ideal. So, instead, neared the ornamental table, and, after examining the best footholds, began to climb.

The top of the dresser wasn’t anywhere near as high as the beanstalk, but that didn’t make Jack less wary. Snyder was sleeping just a couple yards away.

Jack spotted a glint of gold - David The Harp, still playing its - his? - tune. It was a languishing tune, a lamenting song. Medda used to tell Jack and Charlie stories about maidens locked in towers, how they would sing songs to pass the time. Jack imagined they sung songs that sounded like this.

“Hey!” Jack whisper-yelled. The music stopped, too abrupt for Jack’s liking. “My name is Jack,” he continued, “and I’m here to rescue you. You’re family’s been lookin’ for you. Play if you can understand.” A few notes rang out. Jack took a few steps closer. David The Harp wasn’t as big as Jack thought; it - he? - was only about half of Jack’s height, and small enough that he could make it - him? - fit into Charlie’s satchel. “I’m gonna pick you up and put you in my satchel, but I think you should get back to playing so Snyder doesn’t pick you up. Deal?”

David The Harp began to play again, this time a song that sounded more hopeful - happy, almost. Jack lifted it - him? - and craftily fit David The Harp into the satchel.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jack said, climbing down.

*****

They were so close to the door. Jack knew deep down that this rescue mission was too good to be true, to easily done. That’s why when he heard Snyder’s roar, Jack wasn’t too surprised.

What was surprising, though, as Jack fit through the hole in the front door and ran down the cloud steps, was that Snyder followed him outside.

“I KNOW THAT’S YOU, JACK KELLY!”

“Good guess!” Jack called, though he knew Snyder couldn’t hear him.

Rhythmic booms filled Jack’s ears, a tempoed thunderstorm. But it wasn’t a thunderstorm - Snyder was catching up.

“Sorry in advance,” Jack said to the objects in his satchels. “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

*****

“Is it gonna rain?” asked Elmer.

“Sure sounds like it,” answered Henry. “But the clouds don’t seem any darker.”

“Guys,” said Race, pointing toward the clouds, worry apparent in his voice. “Look.”

Just under the cloud coverage one could spot Jack Kelly climbing down the beanstalk like he had everything to lose - and he did.

“What’s going on?” asked Specs.

No one answered - because they didn’t have to. It didn’t take long for a giant-sized sandaled foot to appear, chills running down each of the boys’ backs.

“Everyone inside!” yelled Charlie, rushing to open the door. The boys wasted no time in following Charlie’s orders - even Race, who was usually dismissive of Charlie’s rules. Charlie, however, didn’t follow, but closed the door securely, running to the shed on the side of the house.

*****

As soon as Jack’s feet hit the ground, he ran for the house.

“Jack! Jack!” And there was Charlie, running for Jack as fast as he could, holding two hatchets in his hands.

“What’re you doing?” Jack said, though it came out more like a yell.

“We gotta get rid of this beanstalk,” said Charlie. “Take one.”

“Jack!” called Finch from the front door. “Give me your bags!”

Jack wasted no time in handing Finch his satchels, slamming the door securely closed, and taking one of the hatchets from Charlie.

*****

“What is going on out there?”

“Sorry, Miss Medda,” said Mike. The poor woman must’ve just woken up. “But there’s a real situation goin’ on, and it’s best to stay inside.”

“I’LL GRIND YOUR BONES!” roared a voice from outside.

“And where are my sons?” Miss Medda asked. None of the boys spoke at first. “Do I have to repeat myself?”

“They’re taking care of the situation,” Spot said.

“You’re telling me they’re out there? With whatever that just was?” She moved to the door. Finch, who was still at the entrance gripping the two satchels like his life depended on it, moved in front of her.

“I’m sorry, Miss Medda, but - from experience - you don’t want to meet Snyder.”

“Believe me, boy, there won’t be much left of him to meet by the time I’m done with him.”

“Miss Medda, I -”

But Finch ever got to finish. A loud creak cut through, like the largest tree in the world was falling. Then the world’s largest _thump_. And then the world’s largestest _thump_. And then…

Silence.

“Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

All eyes turned toward the speaker of the question. It seemed that, in the midst of the three loudest sounds anyone had ever heard, Finch had dropped one of the satchels.

Race spoke. “Heya, David!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i wrote this instead of an essay

**Author's Note:**

> why can't i just write normal things for once lol


End file.
